Page 67 of Better Not Pout
I remember sitting in my penthouse apartment in downtown Vancouver, looking out the window and watching life pass me by. A city that never stopped. It made me realize in that moment how everyone else had kept on living, and I felt like I was stuck in place.
In a city that was a constant reminder of what I had lost.
I decided that night that I wasn’t ready to stop living and that I was going to find who I was beyond hockey. I was going to search high and low for a new purpose. I wanted to leave the city, go somewhere quiet, small, where I could discover myself.
Two days later, I stumbled across the listing for the farmhouse I purchased on the outskirts of town.
If I’m being honest, it looked like it was on the verge of being condemned. But I saw the potential, and I bought it without much more thought.
It was a fast sale, and just like that, I was going to be a new resident of Mistletoe Falls. With a house I truly had no idea how to renovate and no clue what I was going to do… until I got a message from my mother the very next morning.
She said she heard there was a space in this building up for sale.
And the rest is history. That’s what brought me here, writing this letter, hoping to convince two total strangers that I’m worthy of buying a place that clearly means so much to them.
I never believed much in fate. Until now. Because ending up in Mistletoe Falls, with this house falling in my lap, andhopefully the start to a new business…well, that seems a lot like fate to me.
But I’m not here just to open a business. I’m here because it feels like the start of more than just my career, but my life. Like for some reason that I can’t put into words just yet, I’m meant to be here.
And the truth is, I don’t know if I am worthy of it.
But I promise to give it everything I’ve got.
I’m choosing Mistletoe Falls because I want a place I can call home.
Thank you for taking the time to read this letter, and I hope that you’ll consider me a good candidate.
Sincerely,
Wells McCoy.
P.S. I’ve included a photo of me and my very temperamental dachshund best friend, Frankie.
I pickup the picture that’s with the letter and laugh, shaking my head in disbelief at what I’m even reading.
Wells is smiling widely as he holds Frankie close to his chest. They both look so handsome that it makes my heart stutter. He’s wearing a flannel shirt, and what’s even more adorable is that Frankie’s wearing a matching one. Obviously, he understands the importance of matching with your children.
Turning, I look over at the man sitting next to me and find him staring back. This letter just affirms what I’ve learned about him over the last few weeks. That he’s driven and a hard worker. That he loves his family and would do anything for them, despite their meddling. That he’s an amazing dog dad and a good friend. A goodman.
The expression on his handsome face is a mixture of surprise and awe. He sets down the letter he’s holding, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
I’m still trying to piece together whatever this is when I seemyhandwriting on the letterhe’sholding.
Oh my God.
He’s holding my Santa letter I wrote last month.
The one that mysteriously went missing from the mailbox.
The one thatsomehow… my grandparents have.
Just like Isomehownow have the letter from his application.
Whydo my grandparents have these letters?Howdo they have it? I have so many questions that my head feels like it’s spinning.
“Looks like I found your Santa letter, Sugar,” he says, his mouth twitching as he glances down at my letter that he’s holding.
I nod, pulling my lip between my teeth. “It does, doesn’t it?”
